Five Portraits of Intimacy Between Sam and Deanna
by Miss Anne Thropy
Summary: AU...The Five different ways that Sam Winchester thinks and feels about his relationship between his choices, himself and how it all relates to the person closest to him, his little sister, Deanna.


_Disclaimers- Supernatural and it's characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is meant purely for entertainment purposes, no copyright infrigement is intended._

_Notes-This is an AU in that Dean is the little sister. Sam is still a special child. Onwards. Any other errors are mine and mine alone._

_Five Portraits of Intimacy Between Sam and Deanna Winchester_

_One._

Sam's happy where he is. He really is.

Well, that's what he keeps telling himself when he stops to question everything that he's achieved. When he looks at his girlfriend, all gold and smiles in the California sunshine and finds himself wishing (briefly, but it's still there) that it was her instead.

He has been tempted to call her, once in awhile, when it gets too hard to sleep. But he always resists the urge to talk to her, to hear her voice, maybe even see her. And then the morning always comes, bright and full of promise for something better and the dark of the night becomes a distant memory.

That's the only way that he can get through the rough spots of university life. The rough spots that become rougher when he starts getting the disturbing dreams (visions, but he can't admit it, even in his thoughts) of Jessica being pinned to the ceiling and burning to death.

His hands are always shaking when he wakes up from those dreams (visions, his traitorous little minds whispers) and Sam has to physically stop himself from reaching over and dialling her number and admit that he needs his baby sister's help.

He feels like a child, cowering behind the memory of her strength and he hates himself for it. He left to prove to both of them that he was strong enough to survive on his own. Strong enough to forge a life different than what he had been thrust into. But now, with all those things happening in his head, he wasn't quite so sure that he really _was._

Sam later on hated to admit that he welcomed Deanna's intrusion into his life.

Even though it was embarrassing that she took him down in the dark, he was glad that she came back. Even though he really didn't want to comply with her request (after all, it was more the two of them the older that they had gotten) to find dad, he pulled on some clothes, told Jess some lies he was sure she could see through and drove off with Deanna in the passenger seat.

She scowled all the while, but Sam ignored her. After all, the car was really his to begin with and despite her grumbling, she was fully aware that it had always been a loan to her until he saw her again. It had been the only insurance that he could offer a fourteen year old tomboy.

After the job was done, he wondered why her mouth was pressed into a taut line the whole drive back to Palo Alto. He didn't want it to end that way, but he had known that she wasn't going to be happy until he was by her side again.

She only catches him crying once and in that one time, she offers him the comfort of her arms. It's a small gift that goes a very long way. He doesn't tell her how much he needed it and she simply forgets it as they fall into the familiar routine again.

_Two_

He stood at the door of her room and made a valiant effort to not cry as he watched her lie there, small and defeated like a broken and discarded doll. It took all of his strength, but he managed it. Had to keep it together for his baby sister after all. Their dad isn't in a great of a shape to be the cornerstone, so it falls to him to be that.

He hates the fact that he was the one with the least injuries and Deanna is the one hovering between life and death. He's the oldest. It should have been him. But of course, blaming himself isn't going to change anything. They have to wait it out and hope for the best, even though he has lived long enough to know that it isn't always the case for them.

When Deanna's heart nearly stops, he nearly can't keep it together. He can't imagine a world without his sister. Even when he was in college, he thought about her and the distant day that he would come and take her in; put her through school and all that normal family stuff. But he never imagined a world where she simply _wasn't._

That was the main reason behind the arguments with his father. He's afraid of losing her. Of losing another part of himself if she's not there with him. He doesn't think that he can live with his father if she's not there to provide a buffer between them. They're too much alike and he's sure that losing Deanna isn't going to smooth things between them at all.

He tries to tell her this, has always tried to tell her. Even before he gets the Ouija board. He can feel her hovering and that gives him hope that she's not going to leave him there. (Like you left her, Sam?)He ignores the voice and goes on with his plan, pushing those thoughts away in the dark places of his mind where they belong.

He doesn't even touch those thoughts until she's in his arms, too exhausted to stand on her own feet as they watch the funeral pyre be consumed by the flames as their father had instructed them to do.

He savours the moment, savours the chance to be strong for his sister. To be her hero as he used to be when they were children, a long, long time ago. Before life and growing up and different desires stepped in to tarnish that image for both of them.

He recalls the feel of her shoulder under his hand longer than he should, because that is the last time in a long time that she lets him comfort her.

_Three_

He's angry at her. Despite everything that he has tried to do to get her to live before the time is up, she simply won't.

She's pissing her life away and it's getting his back up. He's been trying to be patient with her, but it's starting to wear down on him. He doesn't know what he's going to do to make her live and it's driving him crazy. After all, it's his fault that she made the deal. Even though she refuses to blame him for it, she sold her soul to keep him by her side.

That obligation and guilt are what finally push him enough to finally not back down from the issue. He's given into her too much already, what with letting her go out and do all that her twisted little heart desires and all that. He just wants her back, the tough little thing that he taught how to scrap. The little girl whose hair he brushed and braided for what felt like an eternity. The little girl whose life he had been in charge of since his father had tucked the wrapped bundle in his arms.

Was he wrong to want all of that back?

That was the only reason, he muses later, and that he didn't walk away from the fight and give his usual non-answer to her yelling and her stone-walling. He needed her to react. So that was why he got into her face and forced her to do something.

He expected silence and anger and maybe a few punches. He didn't expect her to crumple up into his arms after screaming and weakly throwing blows at him that didn't land anywhere. He didn't think that she meant for them to hit their target, because she just collapses into his arms.

He holds her and murmurs into her hair as she finally lets it all go in a flood of tears and snot that make a big wet patch on his shirt. (Yeah, he's making a mental note of it. After all, brothers and sisters needed ammunition for later teasing) She didn't quite stop for what felt to him like a long time. But he doesn't begrudge her the need to cry. She had been holding too long onto it for it to be any amount of healthy. So he just wraps his arms around her and waits for the storm to fully pass.

It's late when she finally calms down and she has no more strength left in her. She lets him drag her to her bed and she is only too happy to follow.

Sam tucks her in and he feels a sense of déjà vu doing that small bedtime ritual. He turns to go to his bed once she is settled in, but she grabs his sleeve and asks him to stay. He can't say no to her. Not when she's looking at him with a dead pale face and swollen eyes.

He also does it because he misses the feel of laying next to a warm somebody. He hasn't shared a bed with anyone since Jess and then Madison (Don't think of them. Not at this point) died. He knows how much his body craves the sensation of being next to someone that he loves and trusts. One night stands are fine for the physical ache, but they never are good enough to banish the deep down longing missing someone always leaves inside.

Sam doesn't really register anything out of the ordinary when she pulls the covers away and looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes as she waits for him to kick off his shoes and get into the bed. He's tired too and he just wants for all the horrible things to stop and for sleep to smooth everything over. At that moment, it all looks like it's going to hell: there's no way out of everything, there's a powerful demon on their tail and there's very little time left for anything. They don't have anything to even the odds and there's no plan b anywhere in sight.

He doesn't want to feel this way. Especially not when there's a small slice of peace within his reach. He gets into the bed and curls up around her small body, making sure that the blanket is tucked in around both of them. It's not heaven, but at that moment, it's the closest he will get to and he's glad to get it.

Deanna sighs a bit as she nestles into the curve his body makes around her. For a split second, Sam's body forget who she is and responds against her body and the warmth and peacefulness that are coming off of her in waves. He goes with it just for a bit, shifting slightly and curling his body even more tightly against her when it sinks in: that's his sister. Not his lover. Not anyone that he could be that close to in the physical sense.

Once that clicks in, Sam tries to move away and establish some kind of distance before his body instinctively reacts to the warmth again. He's close to sliding out of the bed when Deanne grabs the arm he wrapped around him and hangs on. She mutters something that he doesn't quite catch at first, but when she repeats it, Sam knows there's no point in trying to pull away. She wants this.

Deanna wants him. Wants him in ways that she's not had him and he's too discouraged and raw and on the edge to say no. He should refuse her. But she's his baby sister and she traded her life for his.

It's all decided for him, because at that moment, she turns around and kisses him. A kiss that's all soft lips and a bit of tongue and aching and raw and full of need. Full of want and full of need and it's not something he can easily disentangle himself from. Her hands all over his chest and under his shirt. His hands are already pulling at her shirt and his fingers are mapping the soft lines and curves of the body he hasn't touched in any capacity since she turned twelve and all of those curves started to show.

She's fumbling with his the buttons on his shirt and when it's off, she's down and fumbling at his belt buckle, which she can't get open. He doesn't break the kiss as he eases it open for her and pulls down her own jeans over her hips. Sam doesn't look down, cause he doesn't want to see the pale blue panties she's got on. Doesn't want to bring in weirdness and morality into it.

Deanne's already got his jeans down and his shirt off. He's been a bit slow and he reaches over and pulls it all away, thankful that Deanna (Don't call her by anything else. It's already too weird as it is) wears sport bras. Not sexy, but easy to pull off. Especially when the situation is as pressing as it is at that moment.

She's kissing him again and starts wrapping her hand around his cock, which is close to being hard, but not there yet. Sam's sort of horrified when she gets him fully hard in what feels like a few seconds (How the hell did she get that good?) and he finds his hands are already there between her legs, teasing and taunting as they slide inside her.

Deanna's panting with her mouth open, right beside his ear and Sam's finding it hard to hold back the urge to just spread her legs wide and start pounding into her. He had to stop himself from doing it that though. He didn't want it to be something that she'd just toss off and regret later on.

So he forced himself to take it slow and easy until he could feel her going all slick and tight around him before he pulled her to lie underneath him. He didn't say a word as he pushed himself inside of her.

But he didn't look away from her either. He held her eyes, even when she had them half-closed as he moved deeper and deeper inside of her. Sometimes he worried it hurt her, but she simply moaned out and asked for him to go faster. Go slower. Go harder.

Sam did as she asked, holding back until she gave out a throaty cry that was his signal to let it all go.

She didn't pull away, after it was all done. And despite what he might have felt later on, Sam didn't pull away either.

_Four_

She's been gone for two months, four days and seven hours. Sam's not going to count the minutes. He figures he's got enough on his mind and it's a little too sadistic to pile that time on either way. Besides, it's not like keeping track of how long it has been is going to bring his baby sister back. He knows he has to stop it. That he has to move on with the rest of his life. But the hurt is still so raw that he can't help but to hold on to it.

Rationally, he knows that in time, it's going to stop hurting as much as it does at that time.

He's truly alone now. All of his family is gone. All of his loves are gone. He's been set free of all the things that had tied him down to the life he never really wanted to live.

So why the hell does it feel like a death sentence instead of freedom?

He doesn't know and he won't even attempt to answer it. He won't because he knows the answer has to do with her. He wants to bring her back cause he's missing her something awful.

Sam can almost recall the taste of her lips and how her chin fit so nicely in the palm of his hand when he kissed her. How she arched her back when she was coming and clawed at him as he rode her orgasm with her. How her legs looked when they were wrapped around his waist.

All these things cross his mind when he's lying awake at night staring up at the ceiling and sleep simply won't come. His mind can't erase the memories and he's all too aware of how little comfort they actually offer him. But he still won't stop recalling bits and pieces of that night like a half-forgotten favourite film.

Sam thinks that's the only reason why he decides to start picking up girls and taking them back to his seedy motel rooms. He has to laugh a bit, since he used to get so ticked off when Deanna would disappear and come back with a self-satisfied smirk and smelling of too strong cologne. And now, irony of ironies, he was the guy with the motel room and the cologne bringing girls back to his room. He never brought blondes back. He wasn't ready for that just yet.

He loses track of the girls. He keeps on moving. He gets these nifty powers. He just keeps on working. Going on the road and not looking back or stopping.

Sam's in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror not really paying attention to what's going on outside. The girl he's taken home for the night (Karen? Chrissy? Something cutesy like that) is talking to someone at the door. He gets interested only when he hears her confused remark about two people delivering pizza and goes outside to see what it could be.

Deanna is at the door, looking almost the same as she did the day that he and Bobby sunk her in the ground. The hair is a few shades darker than he remembered and her eyes are slightly wider than he recalled them being. At first, he wants to attack, thinking she's a demon. But there's something about her eyes that tips him off and makes him step forward and grab her as tightly as he dares.

She doesn't really say much, but as he stands there, breathing in her scent and savouring the feel of her heart beating steadily against his chest, he's sure he hears her murmur his name.

_Five_

Sam is sitting on the bed, watching Deanna as she sleeps. The cheap papery sheets are half off the bed, giving him a nice view of her legs. Even though she barely tops five four, her legs are lean and graceful. Here and there he can see some scars that she acquired over the years: the one over her knee, ragged and thick with scar tissue, the long line on the side of her right leg, and the bite marks of a werewolf in heat around her calves.

All of them tell a story. Sam's sorry that he doesn't quite know all of them. Some of them, like the line on her leg and the ragged bite mark happened when he was gone. He makes a mental note to ask her about them before his eyes travel upwards, to where her the v of her legs and the roundness of her hips are only just covered.

He knows she's wearing tiny little black briefs and a sort of matching bra. He knows because it's his turn to do the laundry and that's what she pulled out of her duffel that morning. Not that he's keeping track of what his sister wears. He's not perverted or anything like that. It's just a reflexive habit, nothing more.

Sam casually flips another page of a book that he's trying to read (he only has it there because he doesn't want to get busted by Deanna in case she wakes up) even though he hasn't gotten anywhere past the first thirty pages. She's too enthralling to watch. He doesn't care that it's all wasted time and he should be out there with Ruby, honing his skills. Deanna's back and he's too embarrassed and guilty to admit that he fucken wants her any way that she'll have him.

He's been fantasizing about that night ever since the awkwardness of her coming back, Castiel's little bomb and his confession about him using his powers had worn off. Although they had somewhat fallen into a comfortable pattern (well, as comfortable as waiting for the end of the world as they know it could be) there was always a careful distance maintained between them.

It was the same kind of distance that had been present when they had first met up again after the Stanford interlude. Sam didn't really like thinking of those years as an interlude, but considering how easily he had fallen into hunting...he shut off that train of thought and tried to concentrate on both the words and the dilemma in front of him.

He knows that it's going to drive him mad, this wanting and waiting and holding onto his dick. Even slapping a ton of moisturizer on his palms before he jacks off isn't doing the trick anymore. He debates with himself as to whether he wants to go out and find a willing and warm body to ease off the itch, but decides against it when he notices Deanna hasn't been out looking for men either. And if her irritability is anything to go by, she's in the same position as him.

Sam wonders whether she's waiting for _him _to make the first move when a small sighing moan makes him give up the pretence of reading once and for all. Looking up, he saw that Deanna's hand had disappeared under the covers and was now lying in that juncture between her legs moving in slow, languid strokes. A few times moans escaped her lips and Sam's not entirely sure if she's fully asleep or not. But she looks like she's having a good time.

He wonders who it is that she could be masturbating to and quashes that thought ruthlessly. He doesn't want to get jealous. It would just be freaky and wrong if he did. It's not his place to even think about her like that.

Despite the admonitions that he gives himself, the thoughts have wedged themselves into his brain. Sam knows that they're also not going to go away until he does something to take them away.

That's probably why he finds himself crawling into bed with Deanna. He tried to be careful as he peeled the sheet off her body. He nearly lost his eyeballs when he saw that her panties were sliding off her hips and were barely at the top of her thighs, almost as if they were clinging on to her.

Sam swallows roughly as he takes the sight in, but then mentally slaps himself to get into focus. There was no backing off now; he was too deep into it to be able to back away with grace. Besides, this was what he wanted. He had to make it count.

He starts off by kissing her temple and was quickly rewarded by a stir and a murmur. That positive reaction gave him a boost that he didn't realize he needed till he could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. Grinning in relief, he got a little bolder and starts kissing her mouth, being slow and gentle as he tastes the curve of her lower lip.

She moaned low in her throat then, and he presses his advantage, making the moan deepen to a lower pitch. The pitch that he had heard only once before and had dreamed of hearing ever since.

He kisses her much more deeply and she sighs, making his hands cup her breasts, smooth the skin of her belly and the mound of her abdomen before his hands find their goal. He pushes her hands away and presses deep into the rich and hot center of her, making her start keening out incoherently. It's then when her eyes fly open and pin him with what feels to him as a dare to keep on going, to finish the job.

He complies and there's another edge to their kisses when he makes that decision and that assent. She tastes sweeter, sharper, riper...he doesn't know exactly how to describe the taste of her on his tongue. But he has to take more from her. His fingers up to the knuckle inside her slick cunt aren't enough.

She knows this and moves to give him better access, her hands still fumbling with his pajama bottoms and his boxers. He pauses only to help her get him free and she murmurs in appreciation at how hard his cock is. Sam stops kissing her for a brief moment before he positions himself, a cocky grin on his face as he gives a slight nod and enters her hard and fast.

She gasps and throws her head back, her back arching as if she had gotten shot, her cunt shuddering and tightening around him in velvet warmth that made him grunt in response. He didn't think it was going to be so mind-blowing, this return to the scene of the crime, so to speak. It was better than whatever wild scenario his imagination could ever conjure up. This was the real deal and he knew if he didn't move, it would be over all too soon.

Sam grunted a bit as he nearly pulled out completely. He had to stop and close his eyes in order to collect himself. Deanna mewled softly in protest and her nails dug into his shoulders, urging him on. He let her do this for a little bit before he braced himself and thrust in deep again, making her pant loudly at the movement.

He finds the proper angle (her left leg wrapped up around his waist as he enters her) and a proper rhythm that works for the both of them. Soon enough, she's panting and moaning non-stop, her nails digging into his shoulders, his back, and his upper arms. Anywhere she needs to get some sort of purchase. Sam, for his part, kept himself braced by keeping hold of her shoulders. He was thrusting so deeply into her that she was sliding around on the cheap sheets and making the headboard knock so hard against the wall that the people in the next room where banging and yelling at them to knock it off.

All of this was a dim annoyance in his mind as he kept on going, his thrust punctuated by the low keens coming from Deanna's throat. Damn, he had forgotten how loud the girl could be, but the sound was so fucken amazing that he was getting those bright sports behind his eyes already. He was getting damn close and by the sudden gush of liquid engulfing him and dripping on the top of his thighs, she's already gotten there. The high shrill cry that came after was enough for him to follow right after her.

With a quick, sharp intake of breath, he too came. He half-falls, half-lowers himself onto Deanna and she wraps her arms around him, her lips brush his cheek and he nearly melts in her embrace. Sam savours the feeling of her arms, her cunt as it tightens around his quickly softening cock and has to fight hard to keep the tears at bay.

He was pretty fucken screwed if he was getting so emotional after screwing Deanna. Not even with Jess did he get so wound up. And he was sure as hell that Deanna didn't act that way after the deed was all over and done. No. It was something that was between them and would always stay that way.

And no one was ever going know.

Sam swallows and buries his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder and kisses the sweet-salty skin he finds there before he gets off of her. He can feel the sweat drying sticky on his skin and ignores it in favour of catching one last look at Deanna, who is laying spread out, her breasts half popping out of her bra, her hair a sweaty mess and her face flushed. She grins at him and props herself up on her elbows and makes a face at the damp mess between her legs and on the sheets underneath her.

Sam sort of feels guilty when she gets off the bed and winces slightly. He wasn't exactly gentle and he has to wonder how long it has been since she actually (he's completely blanking the one with the twins out of his mind) has had something like that. But when she smiles up at him and quickly skips to the bathroom, his mind shuts down and simply follows her there.

They shower in the dark and neither of them says anything as they lather each other up and he washes her hair for her. There's nothing else for them to say. This is it, for the both of them. They know where they stand.

With that thought in mind, Sam doesn't react when she crawls into his bed. After all, that's probably the place where she belongs: right beside him, with his heart beating in her ears and his arms wrapped around her body before they drift off to sleep.

End


End file.
